I'm Still Here
by akaJB
Summary: [Chapter 7] Sydney contemplates her return. Deals with suicide. Please R&R... Possibly final chapter, up to you to decide :
1. I'm Still Here

AN: This deals with suicide, so if you are feeling suicidal, or have had feelings of suicide please approach someone for help, a friend, teacher, relative or co-worker. There's no shame in needing help.  
  
This is my first Alias fanfic, I've written CSI and Friends fanfics before, and have been meaningn to write an Alias one for a long time and just got around to doing so.  
  
There's no real relationship going on in this fic, it's all from Syd's point of view on her life. It goes about up to the ep in North Korea, but there's no specific spoilers about any events that occurred.  
  
I believe this will be a one parter... but I've been known to be swayed into writing continuations.  
  
All typos and errors are mine, as this was not beta. The idea just came to me and was written over the span of about an hour and a half, and proof read once so...  
  
Please review if you read. I love constructive criticism as I'm always looking for ways in which I can improve my writing.  
  
Thanks  
  
Joey :)  
  
I'm Still Here  
By Neesha  
  
And I want a moment to be real  
What to touch things I don't feel  
Want to hold on and feel I belong  
  
And how can the world want me to change  
They're the ones that stay the same  
They can't see me but I'm still here  
(Goo Goo Dolls I'm Still Here)  
  
The sun still rises and sets. The world keeps on turning. Day turns to night. Night turns to day. Flowers bloom only to wilt days, weeks or a month later. Time flows by unwanted and unwelcome. I'm still here.  
  
I thought things would get better. That things couldn't possibly get any worse. How could they? My nightmares had morphed into my life in a blink of an eye. If my life was a nightmare, how could sleep be anything but a relief? A break from the horror. A chance to dream.  
  
Apparently the human mind is more amazing then I ever imagined. Even after the day had ended, and exhaustion (or alcohol) caused me to pass out across my bed, my mind would burst into life creating the most vivid and terrifying nightmares that made my days seem like a piece of cake.  
  
I'd be tortured all the while watching Vaughn and Lauren living their normal life on high speed. The dating, marriage, kids speeding by before my eyes. The two looking like the happiest people on earth, nothing ever shattering their world. Or I'd spend the night being placed in situations that required me to kill Vaughn, but unlike my encounter with Simon and Vaughn, the medics never reached him in time. I'd watch over and over the look in his eyes, the betrayal, hurt, pain, disgust, anger, hate that they'd showed as he met my eyes. I couldn't look away, no matter how hard I'd try.  
  
The good nights were the ones when I woke up in a cold sweat, my body shivering and shaking, unable to take the terror of sleep any longer. Nights that would meld into twenty to thirty minutes showers in an attempt to get warm, to stop the shakes. The horror of the dreams not fading in the morning light as I sat in my kitchen with a pitcher of coffee. I'd rather be on a caffeine high then move back to my bed and attempt to sleep.  
  
The bad nights I woke up screaming, sobbing, coughing, unable to breathe. I'd lie in bed gasping for air, eyes darting around the room frantically searching for intruders, for the source of my fear. When I'd finally managed to calm myself down enough that I could breathe, I'd gather my gun and move into the corner of my bedroom, comforter wrapped around me as I huddled with my back to the wall. My eyes would be wide, frantically searching the room, left corner, right, ceiling, window, door, start over. I wouldn't need caffeine this time to stay awake, the fear that was coursing through me enough to keep my eyes from closing.  
  
My performance at work was slipping. I'd noticed it, and I was sure everyone else had as well. I couldn't focus on anything anymore. My mind always running on super speed, either from the current caffeine high I was on, or the fear that just refused to leave, constantly gnawing away on the inside.  
  
People won't look at me anymore, refusing to meet my eyes when I enter a room, the floor, ceiling or paperwork more interesting. Only Dixon, my dad and Weiss ever talk to me, and all three of them spend the few minutes in which they could corner me trying to convince me into taking a vacation. "You just need to get away for a while." "Everything will seem better if you take a short break." "I've heard Cuba is nice this time of year."  
  
A Vacation. Every time I think of the words a bitter laugh escapes me before I can regain my stony exterior. Being by yourself in a foreign country, or at a hotel by the beach is not a Vacation. Vacations are something you do if you're normal, if you have family or friends or a life. No one goes on Vacations by themselves. Besides, the last thing I need is being able to spend all my time reliving my dreams.  
  
Vaughn tried to talk to me. Once. Doesn't he realize that he's the source of my problems? That telling me that everything will be alright, that I "have his number" isn't going to make everything better? That when you tell someone you love them, only to turn around a moment later to go and hug, kiss and make love to your wife can be classified as cruel and unusual punishment? That each word he speaks just drives the knife deeper, twisting the blade so that it's become so embedded I'm not even sure it's possible for it to ever be removed.  
  
I blew up at him the time he approached me. I can't even recall the entire conversation to this day, but I do know it was the day, the incident that started the don't-make-eye-contact trend at work. I remember yelling about Lauren, about duties and morals. I questioned Vaughn's morals, something I've never thought I'd do. I told him to stay the fuck away from me if he's going to continue to go home and fuck his wife. I told him that I hate him. I told him that if I never saw him again in my life it'd be too soon. I told him that the only thing he's ever done for me is cause me pain. I told him that meeting him ruined my life.  
  
I lied.  
  
And now, now I'm lying in the bath debating taking an extended vacation. I've already thought everything through. The three pill bottles are lined up on the rim of the bathtub. Advil, Tylenol 1, and Asprin. Beside them resides a glass of red wine, a nod towards my earlier days when the highlight of my day would be retreating to the bathroom for a comforting bath. A tradition that Vaughn had managed to improve just by his presence, sitting on the side, sharing the glass of wine.  
  
I was going to write notes. It would, after all, be my last chance to say good-bye. To tell the ones I love that I love them, and everyone else to fuck it to hell. But my list of good-byes were short, and when I had sat down earlier to write the letters, I found I had nothing to say. No words of wisdom or parting clichés. For an English major, my lack of words at the time had been astonishing. But my conclusion being that everyone who knew me well enough wouldn't need to receive a cheesy good-bye card that I'd left behind. They wouldn't need the note that I'd delivered from the "other side." They'd know everything I need or want to tell them.  
  
I glance towards my cell phone, as it sits lonely on the bathroom counter. I turned it off. Nothing was going to get in the way of my plans tonight. No last minute calls to come into work. No pleads to talk with a psychiatrist, or to go out for a movie because it'd make me feel better. No communication from the outside world. This was my time.  
  
I use to tell myself that I believed in fate. That everything happened for a reason, and everything had a purpose in life. Well Fate, either I'm suppose to die tonight, or somehow, somewhere someone's going to know what's happening tonight and will manage to prevent it. But me, I'm placing my bet that Fate doesn't exist. If it did, why would it have ever let my life reach the point it has?  
  
I reach out slowly for the first bottle, fighting with the childproof cap until I can let the pills spill from the bottle into my hand.  
  
The End. 


	2. Bed of Lies

AN: I forgot to include in the first part my disclaimer. I don't own Alias, or any of the characters in the show. I also don't own the lyrics at the beginning of each part, they belong to the music group listed underneath. Good songs though, so go out and listen to them. :)  
  
Thanks tons for the reviews. The only reason I'm writing this is because of your responses.  
  
K.S. – The reason I left it open in the first chapter was for two reasons. 1) I wasn't sure if I was going to continue it or not, and I wasn't sure if I continued it if I wanted her to die or not. 2) I wanted to let the reader decide for him/herself if she would go through with it or not. It is possible to make it to the point in which you have the materials, or supplies there and waiting, and to still be able to talk yourself out of it. And the same goes for going through with it. People have been known to take pills, or slit their wrists only to go and tell someone because the truth of it all is that they really don't want to die. They just want and need help. I have known a lot of people who have dealt with, are dealing with or attempted suicide at some point in their life. I don't at all think that this is a trivial subject matter at all, and I'm trying to deal with it as truthfully and honestly as I can.  
  
Mary Kate113 – well read on to find out. :) I currently have the story planned out to be around 7 – 9 chapters if all goes according to plans. But I can't be too sure, because characters have been known to take stories on entirely different paths then originally thought of.  
  
Kityye – I agree with the "the end" comment. And I only put it there because of the last line. It didn't seem concluding enough, but that was how I wanted it to come across. Sort of a question "is this the end of the story for her, or is there more to be told?" But because of how it was written, I also didn't want people to look at it and wonder if there had been some problem uploading the story and that the last few lines had gotten cut off or something. It was just to confirm that, that was the end of the chapter. I like your idea of "They would understand" but there's too much finality in that statement for the story, as it would decide for the user that she did in fact go through with it.  
  
Anyway please keep reading and reviewing. I love getting reviews, and constructive criticism are the best reviews to get.  
  
Part 2:  
  
No I would not sleep in this bed of lies  
So toss me out, and turn in  
And there'll be no rest for these tired eyes  
I'm marking it down to learning  
(Matchbox 20 Bed of Lies)  
  
Walk four steps. Stop. Turn around. Walk four steps. Stop. Turn around. Walk four steps. Back and forth. Back and forth. Until finally, an arm reaches out and catches me mid stride, bringing an abrupt stop to my motions. I look down to the hand that grasps my arm. The wedding ring cool against my wrist, and the gold contrasting deeply with his pale skin.  
  
"What?!" I didn't even realize I had snapped until the hand jerked away from my arm, the body following suit, back to it's former seat on the couch.  
  
"What's so important that you have to pace all night about it anyway?"  
  
Why am I pacing? I glance towards the TV, the Kings game had long been muted, before letting my gaze travel back to meet up with the green eyes that were staring at me intently; determined to find the reason that had me pacing back and forth. The reason that he couldn't watch his beloved Kings game in peace.  
  
"I don't know." Simple, to the point, and in all truth, honest. I don't know what reason, or purpose propelled me from my seat twenty minutes earlier. Why I had put down my beer, which I'm sure had long since grown warm, in order pace the confined space in front of the couch.  
  
"Well if you don't know, would you mind stopping, or doing so in another room?" his curiosity satisfied, he turned his attention away from me and back to the TV, picking up the remote to turn the sound back on.  
  
The announcers voice had hardly had a chance to start before I interrupted the game once more. "Something's wrong. Something's not right."  
  
Exasperated, the mute was re-engaged, and his attention was focused back to me. "Yes, I know. Something's always wrong. We don't live in a perfect world. Would you please just shut-up?"  
  
"No. You don't get it. There's something wrong."  
  
"Fine, tell me. What's wrong this time? Your beer's warm? Well that's your fault. Besides, there's more in the fridge. Can't get a girl? What's new about that?! Can I please just watch the game in peace?"  
  
"You know you could be watching at your house," I mumble angrily as I resume my seat on the couch, picking up my beer only to determine that it is warm. Wincing I set it back on the table, grabbing a few pretzels in an attempt to erase the lingering taste it left behind.  
  
"Do I have to remind you that you're the one who invited me here to watch?"  
  
"Like you'd rather be watching with your wife."  
  
"Don't go there. Not tonight." Mike's voice has changed from it's teasing tone to his favorite tone, dead serious, but with a pinch of self-hate thrown in. His wife, Lauren, has always been a touchy subject for us. One that's been the cause of almost every fight we've had over the last two years.  
  
We sink into silence. Our eyes are staring at the TV, but I know that neither of us are following the game. Not tonight. There's something going on tonight. I know it. I just don't know what.  
  
I break myself from my thoughts to look at Mike. His eyes have moved from the TV to the window, staring across the small patch of grass to the side of Sydney's house. Deciding not to interrupt his memories, I move my gaze back to the TV only to realize that so far, I've managed to miss every single goal, my attention just refusing to focus on hockey for the night.  
  
I reach for my beer, only to remember that it's warm. I look at the bottle in disgust, before heaving myself from the couch, to grab a replacement. I'd barely entered the "kitchen area" when I heard the knock on my door. "Mike, can you grab that for me? It's probably the pizza." I shout back to the living room.  
  
"Got it."  
  
I open the fridge, grabbing another bottle from the door, before slamming it shut and picking up the pizza money that I had sitting on the counter. I ambled out into the hallway to give Mike the money, when I realized I hadn't heard anything from him since he'd opened the door. As I clear the doorway and am finally able to see the door, the silence that had started to suffocate the house makes sense. Sydney's standing in the doorway, wrapped in white terry-cloth robe and slippers, her hair still wet on her shoulders. The two have locked gazes, neither able to pull away, and neither able to say a thing.  
  
"Syd." My voice seems to break the spell that had wrapped itself around the two, their eyes immediately drifting to look at me.  
  
"Hey Weiss." Sydney says softly. "Umm. I just... I came by to.. uh." She looks away, down at her feet before returning her gaze to me. "Nevermind." She turns away and heads down the few steps that lead to my door.  
  
"Syd?" At the sound of her name, she spins back to face me. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah," a weak smile appears on her face. "I'm fine."  
  
Once again she turns to walk away, moving slowly down the remaining step. I hold my breath, not sure what I'm waiting for, until I realize as Sydney disappears from sight that I'd been waiting for Mike to speak. Throughout the entire encounter they'd managed to get away without saying a word to each other.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
I didn't even realize I'd been standing there, staring at the open doorway until the sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached my ears. I shifted my gaze away from the outdoors to glance over at Weiss. "Pizza time."  
  
We walk out onto the porch, to wait the arrival of the delivery. Quickly exchanging the money for the food, we head back to the living room, only to discover that once again another goal had been scored during our absence from the game. As Weiss sets the pizza box onto the table, immediately pulling out a slice for himself, I just stare blindly at the TV. Shaking myself from my daze, I reach for the remote, clicking the TV off.  
  
"Hey, what did you do that for?" Weiss turns to me, pizza dangling awkwardly in his hand.  
  
"What's the point of watching? It's not like we're paying any attention to the game."  
  
"I was."  
  
"Oh yeah? Then tell me who's scored the goals tonight?"  
  
"Umm... hey, if you haven't been paying attention how would you know if I was right or wrong?"  
  
"Point proven." I reach for a slice of pizza, before turning my gaze back to the window, and in turn Sydney's house. I should've known when I came over tonight that being this close to her, that knowing she was less than 100 feet away would make me lose any semblance of control or focus that I had.  
  
After seeing her in her bathrobe, the feelings I'd been trying to suppress came bubbling back to the surface. From the looks of it she had just finished a relaxing bath. Probably, knowing her, with a glass of red wine to help her relax. My mind started to travel back in time, back to the days when I'd be right by her side as she'd sink into the hot water, letting it wash over her, the tears sliding down her cheeks, only to be stopped as I'd reach my hand out to brush them away. The feeling of her skin underneath my hand...  
  
"MIKE!" Weiss voice rocketed me back from my daydreams to reality. He was staring at me, concern written clearly across his face. His face softened, as he turned until he was completely facing me. "Mike, seriously man, what's going on?"  
  
I didn't answer him. He loves playing Mr. Advice, and I hate the advice he gives. It's not that it's necessarily bad (although it's often not great), but sometimes he's just to honest for my liking. Telling me what I already know, pushing me down the path I'm trying to back out of like a coward.  
  
"Mike." I let my gaze wander back to his face, eyes meeting eyes in a battle of wits.  
  
"Did she seem... different to you tonight?" I finally speak up, after tearing my gaze from his and back to the side of Sydney's house.  
  
"Different how?"  
  
"I don't know exactly. Just ... different I guess. Something didn't seem quite right."  
  
"Well besides the fact that the two of you just stared at each other, but never uttered a word, she seemed okay to me."  
  
"Are you sure?" I turn back to him, finally letting my worry creep into my voice, the wrinkles on my forehead appearing. "I can't put my finger on it, but something seemed... wrong."  
  
"Well it could just be because she didn't expect to see you here." Weiss shrugged his shoulders.  
  
"No, it wasn't that." I pulled the gold coin from my pocket, letting it twirl about between my fingers as my mind replayed the entire incident over and over again, looking for the clue. Nothing jumped out at me. "I guess you're right."  
  
"I told you Mike, I'm always right."  
  
"Shut-up."  
  
The two of us sank into silence for a few minutes. Eating the pizza silently, with the occasional sip of beer. My mind wouldn't let it go though, as it continued to analyze the problem. Two years ago I'd know with just a single look. It killed me that know I couldn't even narrow the possibilities down to just a couple solutions.  
  
"Why don't you go talk to her?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Talk, you know, that thing we're doing right now. You guys definitely need to sit down and just lay everything on the table. Make some decisions. Either you both need to learn how to deal with each other or, I hate to say it, but one of you has got to go. This... thing, between the two of you, doesn't just affect you two. It affects all of us working with you. It affects you and Lauren."  
  
"I know." I realize I've said that rather harshly, when Weiss raises his hands in mock surrender. I try again, forcing my voice to remain calm. "I know. I just don't know ... how. What do I say to her? How do you even bring up a topic like this. Every time we try to talk, it just turns into a fight. Last time," I pause, taking a deep breath, and trying to not let the memories of her earlier words haunt me as I speak. "Last time we talked, she told me that she hates me. I think she's made her opinion on the entire topic all to clear. But Eric, I can't just leave. I don't know how to stay away, to not be involved when it comes to her. I could never sleep when she's on missions before, and I can't sleep even now. At least before, after she got home she could phone me, or someone would phone me to tell me that she was safe. If I wasn't there, if I'm not allowed to know what's going on, how would I ever get to sleep? I can't bear the thought of not knowing if she's alive, or if she's hurt, or ok. I need her. I can't leave, and I can't let her leave. It's a lose-lose situation and I don't know what to do about it."  
  
"I'd love to be able to give you answers to all your questions, but I can't do that. The only way you can decide what to do is by talking with Syd. She needs you just as much as you need her. The two of you need to decide if you can live without each other, and if not how you can go about living together without pissing off everyone you're working with, or married to. Maybe all you're meant to be is friends, but you won't be able to even be that much if you never talk. Just go over and see her. I doubt she's in bed yet, probably on the couch watching some cheesy girly movie with a box of Kleenex. Make her listen to you, don't take no for an answer and get some things finally decided between the two of you. Decide what it is you both want, or at least are able to live with."  
  
I stand up, courage flowing through me, like adrenaline during a mission. "Okay, I'm going to do this." I move towards the door, "I can do this."  
  
"Good-luck," Weiss calls out, as I hear him flip the TV back on in time to catch the end of the game. "I won't wait up."  
  
A small grin escapes onto my face as I pull the door open and step outside. I'm going to do it. I won't take no as an answer. She has to listen to me. This is it, the moment of truth.  
  
I head down the driveway and turn to cut across the lawn and cut through the hedge. I can see her front door now, the light still shining down on the porch, almost as if she's expecting me. My eye's focused on the prize, the door, I don't notice the object in my path until I trip over it, clumsily falling to my knees. I push myself back to feet, before turning back to see what I tripped over.  
  
I stop breathing as I recognize the shape of a body laying on the ground before me, and am back on my knees before I have a chance to think, hands immediately coming into contact with the bathrobe I'd stared at only 10 or 15 minutes earlier. Panic starts to rise in my throat, as I choke out a scream. "WEISS!" 


	3. Even Angels Fall

Thanks everyone for the reviews. I've been working on this chapter for a few days, and I'm not sure I like it but I'm getting sick of re-writing it and hopefully you guys won't mind it. I'll try to make the next chapter better.  
  
TheUptownGirl – Thanks tons for your comment. I'm sorry you found it a little hard to follow the switches between the characters. This chapter once again switches among them, but hopefully you can follow who is who. The reason I don't say, is I've been trying to see if I can write in such a way that the readers (you guys :)) can follow the story. Ie. Can I portray the characters well enough that you know who is who without me having to explicitly say. :( I guess I'm not doing as well as I hoped, but maybe this chapter will work better.  
  
K.S. – eh? You used eh? Are you Canadian? If you are you SOOOO ROCK!!! (I'm Canadian). Thanks tons for your review! Keep reading (and reviewing) and I'll keep writing!  
  
Once again I don't own the characters, or tv show or whatnot. I don't have much money right now, but if anyone wants to hire me for the summer and pay me, just send me an email. :)  
  
Part 3  
  
You will fly and you will crawl  
  
God knows even angels fall  
No such thing as you lost it all  
Go knows even angels fall  
(10 Things I Hate About You Soundtrack, Even Angels Fall)  
  
"WEISS!" I forced air back into my lungs before shouting again, my eyes never straying from Sydney's face. "WEISS!" Why isn't he responding? I continue to call his name, until a half-sob half-choke rising up in my throat, cut me off.  
  
I feel like I've been kneeling on the cold ground beside her for eternity now, desperately trying to find a pulse, to see her chest rise and fall, to see some form of life. But she continues to remain motionless, eyes closed, and unresponsive to my touch. When I joined the agency all those years ago, they put me through extensive emergency medical training, and even in the years since, at least once every two years, if not more frequently, we undergo a re-training, re-certification process to keep our skills up date. Although with the number of missions I've been going on lately, and have over the years, I bet I could be fucking EMT. I've actually probably had more experience then half of them. But right now, at this critical moment when all my skills should be flowing through me, directing my hands, my thoughts, my instincts, my mind has gone completely blank. I can hardly remember how to find a pulse, much less provide any emergency medical treatment.  
  
"What?!" I finally hear Weiss emerge out on to his porch, yelling across the yard, exasperation at being called outside filling his voice.  
  
"ERIC GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!" is my only reply, as I lower my cheek to Sydney's mouth to see if I can feel her breath. My hands continue to frantically grasp at her wrist, looking for a pulse. Thump. Thump. Thump. Finally finding one, I stop their movement, eyes darting down to my watch as I count the beats. Too slow. Too slow. The words echo through my head in time with the bumps.  
  
In the back of my mind, I barely process the sounds of Weiss rushing across his driveway and shoving his way awkwardly through the hedge. "What's going on? What's wrong?" As he manages to push the final branches that were holding him hostage aside, he stops dead less then a foot away from me as he eyes land on Sydney. "What happened? What'd you do?"  
  
I let his comment slide, there's not enough time to argue. "I don't know," I can feel my voice catch, as this time a combined hic-up and sob try to break free. I let my gaze shift away from Sydney to meet Weiss' eyes. "I was just walking over to see her. I would've missed her completely but I tripped. I wasn't looking where I was going and..." I trail off, what else is there to say. "I found a pulse, but it's weak Eric."  
  
"I'll call an ambulance," Weiss tells me, turning to run back to his house. "Mike, just stay with her. I'll be right back. See if you can see what's knocked her out. Did someone come by? How'd we miss this?" Eric's words fade off as he reaches his house, running inside to the phone.  
  
I shift my gaze back down to Sydney, my fingers still gripping her wrist, the feel of her pulse keeping me sane. I let my other hand slip to her face, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, before resting on her cheek. I can remember a time when just the touch of my hand, and she'd instinctively turn towards me, but this time I don't get even as much as a slight movement (towards or away), or a blink of an eye. "Come on Syd, you need to wake up now," I didn't even realize I had started speaking, the words seeming to escape me of their own will.  
  
Not soon enough, Weiss comes rushing back over to tell me the ambulance is on the way. Unlike the normal citizen, A CIA agent doesn't get to just phone 911 for an emergency. We have our own protocol on what to do, who to phone, and who can come pick us up if we our unable to get their ourselves. They would send out what looks to be an ordinary ambulance, but the EMT's on board would be CIA doctors and medical workers, taking us to the CIA hospital, or perhaps even the Joint Task Force medical wing, depending on their diagnosis of Sydney's condition.  
  
"Did you find out what's going on?" Weiss asks, as he falls to his knees on the other side, a blanket in his hand which he lays over her prone figure.  
  
"I can't see anything wrong. There's no blood, no bullet holes, no bruises, or bumps. Except for the fact that she's lying on the ground, and isn't responding, I'd just say that she was sleeping. Do you think someone could have poisoned her?" I ask, as I run through a check-list of possible injuries and/or causes that would put her into this state.  
  
"Possibly," Weiss nods. "But I don't think it's likely, I'm betting that she ended up here on her way back from stopping by, which gives us a 15-20 minute time window. I can't off the top of my head think of any poisons that are that fast acting, and that supply these responses. If she was poisoned, I think she'd have enough time from the injection, or ingestion to either phone for help, or come ask me for it."  
  
I nod, Weiss's reasoning makes sense, but my check-list is coming up empty on a reason to why we've ended up in this state. As I start to look her over once again to double check that I didn't miss anything, I can hear the faint sounds of the siren as it approaches. Thank God.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
I watch as Mike runs his eyes up and down the length of Sydney's body. It's a action I've seen him do a thousand times, but this time it's not to take in the curve of her body, or to absorb what ever ridiculous outfit the mission requires her to wear. This time, I can see the wheels turning in his head as he desperately tries to determine the reason behind Sydney's unresponsiveness. The hand that use to be gripping her wrist, in order to feel her pulse, slides down to weave his fingers through hers, giving her hand a slight squeeze.  
  
As I hear the ambulance siren grow closer, I move from my position crouched on the ground in order to direct them. Waving them over from the bottom of the driveway, the screech to a halt, the medics jumping out, rushing to the back doors to grab a stretcher and other needed supplies. I can vaguely hear doors to the surrounding houses opening, as people respond to their curiosity, trying to determine which house the ambulance has been called to.  
  
"Excuse me, sir," I look up to see an EMT standing before me. It took me a moment, but I quickly recognized him as Jason, one of the medics down at the joint task force. I open my mouth to greet him, but he gives a short shake of his head, reminding me that I shouldn't know who he is.  
  
"Yep?" I reply, my gaze watching as the other workers try to get Vaughn to leave Sydney's side so they can diagnose her.  
  
"Do you have any clue as to what happened here tonight, sir?" Jason questions, a clipboard clenched in one hand, the other trying to fill in details on the patient.  
  
"Agen... I mean my friend Mike was just coming over to talk to Sydney and he found her unconscious on the ground. He said he found a pulse, but besides that, we haven't be able to get her to respond to anything. I don't know what happened, there weren't any obvious signs of what's caused the reaction. I couldn't find any blood." I let my voice sink to a whisper. "Where are you taking her?"  
  
"Anything else?" Jason asks, before he too, lowered his voice in answer. "CIA hospital."  
  
"Jason?" A voice calls out from the few surrounding Sydney.  
  
"Yeah Jim?" Jason turns his attention away from me, towards the group.  
  
"Can you give us a hand here?" They had moved Sydney from her position on the ground to lying on the stretcher, strapped down. Mike still gripping her hand, refusing to let go. They just needed another pair of hands to lift the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.  
  
I stepped forward with Jason, helping him out by convincing Mike to let go of Sydney's hand long enough for them to load her into the ambulance. "Mike, I'll meet you at the hospital. I just have to go grab my cell and wallet, and I'll take my car."  
  
Mike's gaze has been following Sydney's movements, but something I said catches his attention. He reaches into his pocket, withdrawing his car keys which he hands to me. "I'm parked right behind you, you better take mine." Before I have to a chance to say another word, he hurries over and climbs in beside Sydney, Jason closing the doors behind him. I stand there silently watching as the ambulance pulls away, lights flashing, before turning and heading back to my house.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Paperwork. I hate paperwork. It's a useless exercise that the higher-ups, the ones that aren't out in the field, came-up with. Something they can use to validate their existence. Proof that the $500 dinner with so-and-so was a business meeting. The amount of paperwork that this department produces easily out-weights the amount that any sane human could read in a life time, so it often makes me wonder what the point is. It's not like the IRS is really going to come audit the CIA.  
  
But once again, here I am late on a Saturday night, working on this useless task. My eye's going blurry from staring at the piles of white paper with miniscule black writing, reading over and commenting on the mission reports that cross my desk. Sometimes I think that some of the Agents doubt my intelligence. As if I don't notice that they just re-worded their last report, modeling it to reflect their newest mission. When you read a thousand reports, and only minor details feel as if they've been changed, it becomes quite clear.  
  
Shoving aside the current stack of paperwork, I reach for my keys, and cell phone. I flick off the light in my office as I leave, flashing my CIA badge to the security guards as I exit into the underground parking lot, and retrieve my car. For a moment I pause, staring at the CIA issue black sedan. I can't remember the last time I had a car that wasn't black, and that wasn't CIA issue. I've drove a few others in order to keep up appearances on missions, but I've never been able to call a bright candy apple red convertible mine. A slight chuckle almost escapes me, as I think of everyone's reaction if they saw me, Jack Bristow, in such a car. But the cool exterior I adopted all those years ago in order to cover for emotions I don't want to deal with, quickly slides in to place. I think I've had this mask for too long, and it has now become permanently attached, cemented in place.  
  
I was just clicking my seat-belt into place when my cell phone shrieked from it's resting place on the passenger seat. Picking it up, I glance briefly at the caller id. Agent Weiss. What would he be calling me about on an Saturday night. Last I recall he, along with many of the junior agents, had been given the weekend off.  
  
"Bristow," I give my customary greeting as I answer the phone, but only silence greets me. "Agent Weiss, I do suppose you have a valid reason for phoning me on a Saturday night."  
  
"What?" A startled voice responds. "Oh, sorry Jack, I didn't hear you pick up."  
  
I pull the phone away from my ear, and give it a questioning look, waiting for it to answer all my questions. I don't think I've ever heard Agent Weiss sound so... flustered.  
  
"In regards to what are you calling?" I decide to give him a push in the right direction.  
  
"It's about Sydney, Jack," I hear him sigh. "She, uh, she's..."  
  
"Spit it out. I have no time for your useless babbling."  
  
"Mike, I mean Agent Vaughn, was over visiting me tonight and ..."  
  
"What did he do now?" Why can't that man stay away from my daughter? Doesn't he realize he's just bad news?  
  
"Nothing Jack. It wasn't his fault. Sydney came by to see me, but left when she discovered he was here."  
  
"Is that what you're phoning me about? The fact that my daughter is upset that Agent Vaughn is over visiting you? I don't have time to deal with your high school squabbles."  
  
"NO!" Weiss voice surprises me, when it cuts through the phone with anger. "Jack, Mike went over to see Sydney, to talk to her. She was lying unconscious on her lawn. We couldn't get her to wake up, so I called the JTF and they sent out an ambulance. I'm on route to the hospital as we speak." I sat there stunned, unable to respond. "Jack, I really think you should get down here." And with that he disconnected, and I was left sitting in my car, in the underground parkade listening to the dial tone.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
I hold Sydney's hand tight within my own, as I try to stay out of the way of the EMT's. Immediately after placing her with in the ambulance, they had taken her hand and inserted an IV. Now, I let my thumb caress the bruise that was already forming in response to the IV. They had hooked up her up to multiple machines that continued to beep and blink away throughout our drive, each one recording some vital human process.  
  
"BP is 75/60, but steady." Jim barks out to Jason, who writes it down on his clipboard. "Agent Bristow continues to be unresponsive to all efforts." Jim lowers his voice, leaning over in to whisper to Jason, but I hear him nonetheless. "This seems like a classic example of," Jim stops talking, turning to glare at me. I hold his gaze for a moment before looking back to Sydney. I raise my left hand (my right is holding hers) to cup her face, careful of the oxygen mask. I gently stroke her face, whispering quietly to her, as Jim and Jason talk in the background. My curiosity overwhelms me, but as much as I try to listen, I can't hear what they're saying. At the same time, a small voice in the back of my head is telling me that I care to much. That I should be thinking about my wife,  
  
But seeing Sydney lying on the ground pushed any logical thoughts out of my head. It was like we'd traveled back in time to when we were dating, or even just to when I was her handler, responsible for keeping her safe. It's like an instinct or something, protecting Sydney.  
  
"Excuse me Mike," I let go of Sydney's hand briefly to let Jason squeeze by. As soon has he's passed though, I immediately take her hand back into mine.  
  
Protecting Sydney. Obviously I haven't been doing a very good job of that. If I had, we definitely wouldn't be here right now. If, no when, Sydney wakes up we really need to have a talk.  
  
"Mike, we're pulling up to the hospital. You're going to have to let Agent Bristow so we can get her some help, okay?" Jason pulls my attention back to the present. I nod my consent.  
  
What feels like seconds later the ambulance pulls to a stop and the back doors are pulled open. I let Sydney's hand slip from mine as they remove her stretcher from the ambulance and rush her inside. I follow right behind them, listening as the shout her stats to the nurses and doctor that grab the stretcher at the entrance. Too soon they pull her through a set of doors at which I'm stopped. Only doctors and nurses allowed past this point. I let a nurse direct me to the waiting room, where I collapse into a chair, head immediately falling into my heads.  
  
Don't forget to tell me what you think. :) 


	4. Spending My Time

Well here's part 4. Hopefully I'll get more reviews this time :(  
  
K.S. It's awesome that you're Canadian!!! It's the best kind of person to be. :) That and an alias fan.  
  
TheUptownGirl, sydjackirina, midnightqueen6 thanks tons for your reviews.  
  
Now onto the story.  
  
P.S Oh yeah, and they still don't belong to me, and never will.  
  
Part 4:  
  
Spending my time  
Watching the days go by  
I'm feeling so small  
I stare at the wall  
Hoping that you  
Think of me too  
I'm spending my time  
(Roxette – Spending my time)  
  
Three. Three times I've moved my head from my current position. Once when Weiss arrived, once for Jack (in order to receive the customary Bristow glare), and once when a nurse walked by. Three times I've had my hopes raised, only to be dashed when no information is passed my way.  
  
Sixty-two. Sixty-two minutes have passed since I first collapsed onto the plastic orange chair on which I sit. Sixty-two minutes is equal to Three thousand seven hundred and twenty seconds which I've sat here in agony. Sixty-two times it took me to correctly calculate sixty-two times sixty... well actually it was three, but who's counting? Three thousand seven hundred and twenty times I've thought about Sydney.  
  
Two hundred and eighty. Two hundred and eighty tiles are within my current view. Ugly, brown-grey tiles, picked most likely because it's impossible to tell when they're dirty. Two hundred and eighty footsteps (give or take a couple) have walked these tiles in the last sixty-two minutes.  
  
Fifteen. Fifteen people are currently in the waiting room, myself included. Fifteen glares I've felt Jack send my way. Fifteen times I've berated myself for not thinking about Lauren. Fifteen times I've berated myself for thinking about Sydney.  
  
One million. One million regrets about my life. One million dreams for the future. One million things I'd like to do to whoever did this to Sydney. One million hopes destroyed. One million things I still need to tell Sydney.  
  
Five. Five screaming ambulances have pulled up the emergency wing of the hospital. Even though this hospital is run by and for the CIA, it does treat citizens as well. Five people arrived from a nasty car accident, in which at least one of the five died. Five times Weiss has come to stand beside me, and five times he almost said something, before deciding against it.  
  
A door squeaks open beside me as a doctor enters the waiting room. I fight the instinct to look up, positive that once again someone has come with information for another of the groups waiting here. I follow the footsteps with my eyes as they walk across the room, stopping by another pair of familiar shoes by the window. Jack.  
  
Before I can fight it this time, my head snaps up. I notice out of the corner of my eye that even Weiss has stopped his pacing in order to look over at the doctor who stands besides Jack. In sync, the two of us move towards the other two, desperate for information.  
  
Jack and the doctor both turn to look at us when they hear our footsteps approaching. The doctor turns back to Jack and says something I can't hear, but gestures to Weiss and myself. Jack nods, and the two turn to approach us. But once they reach us they keep walking, and I turn my head to watch in disbelief as the doctor and Jack leave us behind in the waiting room.  
  
One. One chance for information. One man who might be able to provide it. One man who made sure he didn't. One more crushed hope.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Walk four steps. Stop. Turn around. Walk four steps. Stop. Turn around. Walk four steps. Back and forth. Back and forth. Déjà vu. Had it really only been an hour or two since I had been passing in front of my TV, trying to determine what was going on that had me worried. Now, at least I had the what answered. Unfortunately, that only brought more questions with it. How is she? Why? Will she be all right? Why? Will Mike be ok? Why? What happened? Why? Who did it? Why?  
  
I lift my gaze off the floor, letting my eyes cross the room until they come to rest on Mikes bent form. Ever since I arrived at the hospital, moments behind the ambulance, Mike has sat in the same position, elbows on knees, face resting in hands, wrinkles creasing the portion of forehead visible to the passerby. If there's one quality Mike possesses, that I'd love to be able to rid him of, it's his ability to beat himself up over absolutely nothing. The man loves to wallow in self-pity, self-hate, self- loathing and self-guilt. He may be only thirty-five, but I have to admit I'm surprised that his wrinkles have yet to permanently dig trenches into his forehead, as hardly a day goes in which they don't appear.  
  
Tonight though, tonight I'm joining Mike in the self-guilt, self-loathing, self-pity and self-hate clubs. What if I hadn't invited Mike over to watch the game? Would Sydney have come over to hang out, and thus not be lying on a stretcher somewhere behind the ER doors? What if I had convinced Mike to go talk to Sydney earlier? Would Mike have been able to prevent whatever happened? Would Mike have been hurt as well? What if?  
  
With each step I take, I just want to pound my head into a wall. "You didn't know anything was going to happen." "There was nothing you could've done." The little voices in my head come out to play, to attempt to yank me back into the real world. I remember saying the same words, or hearing others say them to Michael after Sydney's death. The look of anger that would race onto his face at the mere mention of the words. The truth doesn't make any difference to how you feel. The truth is rational, logical. In situations like these, rational thoughts, logic, straightforward thinking doesn't apply, and no one should try to force it too.  
  
I continue to walk forward, before reaching the Spot. The spot where I turn around to head back the other way, until I reach the second Spot, at which I'll repeat my actions. As I turn, I let my gaze continue to sweep the room, this time coming to rest on Jack's back. He's standing at the window, facing out at the world that continues to move on outside the boundaries of the hospital. The cars with people going to work, school, parties and life. The people who still remember how to live. The people who don't face death and uncertainty every day. The people who's friends, family and loved-ones don't continue to die and come back to life. The people who travel with the wind at their backs, and the sun over head. Signing up to work for the CIA is like signing up to be a part of the storm-cloud-over-your-head-like- Eeyore-club.  
  
See Mike's easy, he's one of those guys who wears his heart on his sleeve. If you know him at all, and I'm sure even if you don't, you can read him like a book. Jack is the tough one. The number of times I've seen honest to God emotion on his face I could count on one hand, and all of them have to do with situations involving Sydney. But today, now, his face is a completely blank, poker mask in place. I never want to play him at poker, he could beat me with a hand of useless cards while I'm holding a royal flush. He hasn't moved from his spot by the window since he arrived and grilled me as to what is going on.  
  
The noise of the ER door opening, brings me from my thoughts, and I shift my gaze from Jack to watch the entering doctor, trying to determine who in the waiting room he has arrived to give news too. He walks past me, past the set of parents over on the couch, until it's obvious that his destination is Jack. Without a second thought, my legs propel me forward. Acutely, I'm aware that Mike has also risen from his chair, the two of headed for Jack, for information.  
  
But before we even reach them, they have turned to face us, only to walk by, leaving us behind with no knowledge of what is going on behind the closed doors.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
As Agents Vaughn and Weiss approach myself and Doctor Stark, we quickly decide to leave the room in order to get some semblance of privacy. I can feel theirs glares on my back as we walk by them, the hurt, and anger seeping through. But my armour is tough, and as I still am their superior, it is against protocol for either of them to speak up about my actions. And Sydney is my daughter, I deserve to hear the information first and foremost. Agent Vaughn should not even be here.  
  
I walk with the doctor to his office, where we both sit down. The doctor places the file he had been carrying on the desk in front of him. I easily spot Sydney Bristow written down the tab, a few loose pages contained within. As they doctor makes no effort to speak first, I push ahead.  
  
"What is my daughters diagnosis?"  
  
"Agent Bristow is currently still unresponsive. We've placed her on an IV and have pumped her stomach," Dr. Stark pauses with his last words, giving them time to sink in. Pumped her stomach? "I was hoping you'd be able to inform me of exactly what she took? I've sent the contents down to the lab to be tested, but it'd be quicker and better for her the sooner we know what and how much she took."  
  
"What do you mean what she took? I thought she was poisoned?" I can feel the confusion start to engulf me. I hate being out of the loop, not in the know.  
  
"I thought you had been informed," the doctor has the courtesy to look embarrassed. "Agent Bristow, Sydney, overdosed on pills tonight."  
  
A million emotions I hadn't felt since I heard the news of Sydney's "death" pass through me in a millisecond before I even have a chance to comprehend his words. Overdosed? He must have the wrong file! But Sydney's name continues to glare up at me from the file folder.  
  
I don't even realize I had stood up and started moving until I'm standing back in the waiting room, my arm against Vaughn's neck, as I push him into the wall. "What the FUCK did you do?!" I shout, pushing my arm in further, causing him to gasp for breath. I can hear Weiss' yelling at me to stop, to let him go, an arm pulling against me, but my anger is too strong.  
  
"Tell me what you did?" I stare in the eyes, refusing to let him look away. Finally he attempts to choke out a word, and I let my arm loosen enough for him to gulp in oxygen.  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Vaughn manages to choke back at me between desperate gasps for air. "What's wrong with Sydney?"  
  
"Oh what do you care?" I let my arms drop from holding him up, and I'm sure he would've collapsed right there, if Weiss hadn't jumped forward to grab him and help him to a chair.  
  
"What do I care? WHAT do I care?" Vaughn lets his head sink down for second, still gasping for air, before yanking it back up to look me in the eye. "No matter what you think you know, I LOVE your daughter Jack. Sydney's wellbeing has always been, and will always be my top priority."  
  
"What about your wife?" I let the word fall from my lips with as much distaste as humanly possible. "The one you promised to have and to hold, to love and to cherish for as long as you shall live?" The look that appears on Agent Vaughn's face is priceless, and if I wasn't so angry I'd wish I had a camera to capture the expression to look back on in later years.  
  
"Leave Sy—my wif—Lauren out of this!" Vaughn gets over his initial shock, and his face turns red with anger. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You just..." I don't get to hear the rest of Vaughn's anger infused words as his cell springs to life. He grabs it out of his pocket, finger posed over the silence button, eyes glancing momentarily down to check the caller. Before he has a chance to bring his eyes all the way back up, he does a double take of the caller Id. A sigh escapes him, as his finger moves away from the end button, over to the send button, a moments hesitation before he presses down, turning away from me, to answer the phone.  
  
"Hello?... Lauren."  
  
I shake my head in slight disbelief (not that I had much faith in the kid), but his actions once again speak louder than his words. Anyone who'd interrupt a fight in which they were trying to prove their love for someone in order to answer a phone call from their wife... Well what can I say?  
  
I move past him, turning back to face him to give him a look and a few choice words. "Point proven."  
  
Remembering the doctors words, I head over to Weiss to ask him a few choice questions.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
After lying my way through a set of twenty-questions from Lauren, I manage to finally get off the phone. Having suffered through multiple glares from both Jack and the nurses, who continually pointed angrily at my cell phone, I headed outside the main doors, sitting down on an isolated bench just off the entrance.  
  
For what felt like the millionth time that day, I let my head fall into my hands, letting the tears that had been trying to escape all night finally break free. What the hell am I doing? I should be at home, celebrating the fact that both my wife and I are home and not on some mission or business trip. I should be concerned, but not overly worried that my friend is in the hospital, because it's not my place. I'm not her, I'm not suppose to be her guardian angel anymore.  
  
They always tell you to never speak in anger. That you'll say something you'll regret. I'm not sure yet if I regret what I said to Jack or not. I haven't even been able to admit to myself that I might have spoken the truth in there. That the words that came out of my mouth in anger, hurt, and confusion were not just said in the heat of the moment.  
  
No matter what you think you know, I LOVE your daughter Jack. Sydney's wellbeing has always been, and will always be my top priority. 


	5. Guess I'm Doing Fine

AN: Hi, I know this kind of jumps ahead in time compared to the last one, but I really wanted to do this conversation. I just wrote this today (this afternoon, just finished) so it hasn't been checked by anyone, and all errors belong to me. I didn't get many reviews for the last one, and while there's only a chapter or two left in this story, I won't be updating if I don't get more reviews this time. I only write for myself, but I post for you guys, and so if no one is reading this, there is no point in posting this.  
  
Midnightqueen6 - Thanks so much for your support, hope you like this chapter as well. :) K.S. – well I think you're one of the few (maybe only) one to have read/reviewed all my chapters, so thanks TONS!! And thanks for the criticism.. wow, bet you didn't think you'd be thanked for that! I never even thought about that with Jack, but I've been re-watching the first two seasons and I see your point. He is a man of few words isn't he? I'll be interested in your opinion of my portrayal of Barnett.  
  
Maddy (or sydjackirina, whatever you prefer) – wow, it makes me feel honored that it had that much affect on you. Thanks.  
  
shan - unfortunately this fic won't continue forever. :( Yeah, I'm sad too. BUT I do have some ideas for some other fics that I hope to start writing soon. I've told myself that I need to finish this fic first, before I get involved in more, but... we'll see what happens. I'm just so angry at Vaughn right now, so I'm thinking of doing a good Vaughn bashing fic (mind you, by the end he will have come out of his insanity and syd and him will be together forever :) ).  
  
Part 5:  
I just wade the tides that turned  
Till I learn to leave the past behind  
It's only lies that I'm living  
It's only tears that I'm crying  
It's only you that I'm losing  
  
Guess I'm doing fine  
(Beck – Guess I'm Doing Fine)  
  
I entered the room cautiously, not sure of the reception I was about to receive. Sydney, Agent Bristow, and I have never been on great terms with each other. Sydney has always been, and I believe will always be a fighter first and foremost. And I don't mean that in a negative way at all. She's just never one to solve her problems by talking about them in a civilized conversation. Something's not right? Then she'll confront the person, or fix the scenario herself if (even remotely) possible).  
  
Myself, on the other hand has always been one for discussion. I don't believe there are any issues in this world that can't be solved by sitting down and talking them out. But then again, I guess I have to believe in the power of conversation in order to do my line of work. But even when I was back in university, desperately trying to pick a major, I had no clue that I'd end up working for the CIA, privy to all the top secrets revealed to me through the many sessions I have with the top agents.  
  
I've heard all kinds of stories over the years. Counseling the agents through divorce, marriage, near-death experiences, torture, memory loss, killing/witnessing killings, life changing injuries and more. Over the years I've learned lots about humanity, as I watch many high level agents and officials (all very smart people), fall apart. It's true, life is indiscriminate, affecting everyone, no matter how smart, or how athletic, or how healthy they are.  
  
Now, as I push open the door to the room, carefully stepping over the threshold into the rooms interior, I realize that I've never dreaded a conversation as much as I am now. What Sydney and I talk about today will determine so much. Director Dixon wants me to do a psych evaluation so that he can know if she'll ever be able to be field rated again. I've also got the pleasure of telling her that she has been currently taken off field rating, not to mention the fact that she might never be re-instated. All I want to do in this conversation is to help Sydney finally deal with everything. There's been so much trauma in her life over the last three months alone, excluding the rest of her life.  
  
I had passed Agents Vaughn, Weiss and Bristow, on my way in. And I know that the moment I get through this conversation and step outside the room the three will be immediately on my case. If the one thing the CIA did not teach it's agents well, it's how to understand that something's are private. Although, in this case, I know I'll have to give them a little slack, knowing none of them have slept in the last 36 hours since she was brought in.  
  
Sydney's sitting up in bed, staring blankly out the window, the muted television displaying some soap opera, and an IV attached to her left hand, continuously fighting off the remaining affects of the few drugs that have still yet to be cleansed from her system. I notice almost instantly, that Sydney's not wearing the usual hospital gown, with the open back, instead someone has brought her a pair of flannel pajama's. The site of her sitting there, knees pulled up to chest, arms wrapped around legs pulls on my emotions, but I quickly place them in check. I'm a psychiatrist, I don't get emotional. That jobs left for my patients.  
  
I grab the only chair in the room, a orange plastic chair that looks like it saw its better days over 20 years ago, dragging it over to the side of her bed, where I tried to settle into it as comfortably as possible. I place my note pad on my lap, and sit back to observe for a moments, trying to determine if she's even noticed my presence.  
  
After giving her a good ten minutes to say something, I clear my throat, and look down to the first question I had jotted down hours earlier. "Sydney?" I ask softly, and after a moment she swings her head around, focusing on me, and as I watched I almost see her mask fall back into place.  
  
"Dr. Barnett."  
  
"Agent Bristow, as you've probably guessed, I've been sent over by Director Dixon to talk to you about the recent events, and those leading up to your current position." I give her a second to nod, before continuing. "I have a few questions to ask you, but if you'd rather just talk instead today..." I leave the question dangling, forcing her to finally speak.  
  
"You're the psychiatrist, you pick."  
  
"Okay then," I look back down at my note pad, wishing it would tell me exactly what to say and do. "Let's start with a few questions then, and go from there. How are you feeling today? And I don't mean physically, but emotionally. Are you feeling grateful that you're still here, or resentful..." I trail off again, not wanting to lead her down any specific path, preferring to hear instead directly from her what she wants to say.  
  
"Grateful I'm still alive," is her only response. I watch her face carefully, looking for any hidden signs, other ways to read her, but as someone trained to lie, I can't determine anything she doesn't want me to know. Instead of forcing more words from her, I decide to sit back for a moment, and give her a chance to decide if she'd like to share more.  
  
"I don't know what you're expecting me to say," Sydney finally admits, letting her gaze wander the room, before returning to me. "I still don't even know the whole story of how I ended up here. No one's told me anything." She lets a small bitter laugh escape. "Not that I've seen anyone who could tell me anything. This," she waves her arms about, gesturing to the surrounding world, "is why I'm here in the first place. You'd think there'd be someone out there who'd care."  
  
As I'm about to respond, she continues, "I've often wondered how many lives I made better since my return, and you know what? The answer is zero. I haven't even been able to improve my own life, I was better off just staying away, working with Kendall. All I've done since I've been back, is destroy and disrupt life after life."  
  
As she starts to head down the path of self-hatred, I jump forward to interrupt. "What about your father? If you hadn't returned, he'd still be sitting in jail right now. And Weiss? I know he thinks of you as one of his best friends. I don't think anyone would prefer to have had you never return."  
  
"How 'bout Lauren? Huh? Or even Vaughn for that matter," she turns away, and I pretend to not notice the tear that slipped from her eyes at the mere mention of his name and wife.  
  
"If Agent Vaughn didn't want you back in his life, do you really think he'd be out there sitting in the waiting room, when he could be instead sitting at home enjoying one of the few times he and his wife are both home, with no missions in the foreseeable future? I'll have you know that Agents Weiss, Vaughn and your father have been out in that waiting room the entire time since you were brought in. There are many people who are concerned about you, don't sell yourself short. Self-pity doesn't suit you."  
  
I give her a moment to regain her cover before moving ahead, "So, Agent Bristow, why don't you tell me about what happened the other night, that landed you here."  
  
"Why are you even asking that? I'm sure you've heard the entire story already."  
  
"Well I've heard Agents Weiss and Vaughn's version, as well as the report from your Doctor, but I have yet to here from you."  
  
"Long version or short version?" She asks sarcastically, not waiting for a reply. "I had a bath, drank some wine, took a few pills, and Bang! Here I am."  
  
I switch tactics, going for a different route instead. "What do you and Agent Weiss usually do when you hang out?"  
  
"It depends on the day. We make dinner, or attempt too.. Dinner was always Francie's job..." Once again she looks away, although these tears are more obvious, and she is unable to remove them all before turning back. "Sometimes, after a particularly crappy day we'll have a few drinks."  
  
"Do you guys ever go out?"  
  
"Do you mean like date?! No.. no... NOOOO," she shakes her head. "Eric, Weiss, he's my best friend now. He's there for me when I need him, a shoulder to cry on, or a friend to be crazy with. He's always ready with a joke, even if it's at his own expense to cheer me up, and I like to think that he finds the same with me. I don't even know how he does it, hang out with his best-friends ex-girlfriend. I regret that he's even in that position in the first place."  
  
"Regret that he has to choose between the two of you, or that you're now Agent Vaughn's ex-girlfriend?" I don't expect her to answer that, but am pleasantly surprised when she decides to.  
  
"Both, I guess. I told you once that Vaughn is... was my soul mate. And I admit, I will always have a special part of my heart devoted to him, just like I'll never forget Danny. But he's clearly moved on, and made a decision, it's now time for me to do the same. I can wait forever, or I can move forward. And, well let's just say I'm sick of waiting."  
  
"Okay, well let's just take a look at what you just said. You're ready to move forward."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Well can I ask you how your latest actions were going to help you with this plan?"  
  
"Isn't everyone allowed a moment of stupidity?"  
  
"Suicide, while not the smartest choice a person can make, is not a moment of stupidity. Contemplating it, maybe, possibly, although very doubtful, can be considered that. Taking that action is a sign. It's a sign to everyone that things aren't great. That life is getting you down, and you can't control it anymore. Even the strongest need help at some point."  
  
"I've never said that I don't need help, and I like to think that I'm the first person to ask for it. I mean even that night..." she trails off, as if realizing that she almost said too much.  
  
"Even that night?" I prompt her, hoping that she'll continue on. I recall Agent Weiss saying that she came by his house that night, but didn't stay, and that they believe it was on the way back to her own, that she collapsed. So she was most likely going to tell him, to ask for help. That's the "beauty" of pills, they're not instantaneous, giving the person a chance to back out. Actually, considering my previous experience with Agent Bristow, I'm surprised that that was her method of choice. My guess would've been an gun, or at least something more guaranteed lethal.  
  
"I'm not crazy you know," she speaks up again, and I look over at her in surprise.  
  
"No one ever said you were."  
  
"I know what I was doing that night, and I know why I did it. But you know what? I think it ultimately served as a wake-up call. Maybe that's why it even happened. I never use to believe in fate, but ever since the missing years, I've started to believe. I think it's the only way for me to understand and accept what happened, and to live each day without falling apart." She catches my look at the last line, and gives me a half smile. "I believe that this... event happened to show me that things are as good as I've been fooling myself into believing. That I need to re-evaluate what I'm doing. That I have lots to live for, and even if I don't know what exactly those reasons are right now, I have many years left to figure it out." She's gives a small laugh, "besides, this is one way to get vacation time."  
  
I decide that we've talked enough for one day, and that the rest of my questions can wait. I stand up and tell Sydney that I'll be by to see her tomorrow. She says good-bye, before turning her gaze back to her window, resuming the pose that I'd initially found her in.  
  
I take a moment to watch her, before heading for the waiting room, and the three men waiting for me. I don't know what to say to them yet, how to answer their questions. I have a feeling that they won't like my answers, won't be satisfied with what I can tell them. While I don't think that Agent Bristow will attempt again the next time she has the opportunity, which in her line of work is pretty much everyday, I didn't believe everything she tried to tell me today.  
  
There were moments when I felt like she was being completely truthful, and it was quite obvious that there are still many moments of her life that she has yet to deal with. Situations, and feelings that she needs to get through instead of continuously ignoring. People, she needs to talk to, to get some straight answers from. One person, in particular, with whom she needs closure.  
  
The other question I know they're all dying to ask, is if they can see her. I'm not even too sure why she hasn't had visitors yet, although I understand for most of her time here she's spent unconscious, or sleeping while the IV's were working on removing the toxins from the drugs she'd ingested, and much of the time she spent awake, involved vomiting up the remaining contents of her stomach, even long after she'd had it pumped out.  
  
I know that it will be her friends and father that will get her through this, but I'm not too sure how wise it is to place Agents Bristow and Vaughn in the same room while she's still very emotionally unstable, even if she doesn't believe so herself. Yet, probably the most beneficial thing for her will be having the conversation the two Agents have been long avoiding, getting everything out into the open, and deciding where to go from there.  
  
There are days that I love my job. Today is not one of them. 


	6. Motivation Proclamation

Well… I didn't get as many reviews as I'd like for the last chapter… but I figured since there's only two chapters left I might as well continue to post. :(

Please review with your comments and criticisms. It's what makes me a better writer, and is why I continue to write. 

  
Thanks

Joey :)

Part 6:

_I'm realistic, narcissistic, you say I'm selfish, and absurd  
You try to change me, try to save me, you say I'm gonna learn  
I'm so blind, I'm out of time, you're so un-kind, sometimes  
I never lied, I never lied, I never lied,  
Cause I never said, that everything, would be ok  
And I never said, that we would live, to see another day, yeah, yeah_ __

(Good Charlotte, _Motivation Proclamation_ )

"Dr. Barnett!" I call out to her as soon as she enters the waiting room. Her head swings in my direction, and after catching her gaze, she nods and heads towards me.

It's been over a day since I yelled at Agent Vaughn, and for the last eight hours or so, Agents Vaughn and Weiss and I have sat, roughly together, in silence. We haven't been let in to see Sydney yet, although they were kind enough to let us know when she regained consciousness.

When Dr. Barnett had arrived earlier, she had walked by too quickly for any of us to say anything or get her attention. Dixon will be hearing from me about this. I'd like to think that I should've been the first person to see Sydney. The last thing she needs is to have to talk to a psychiatrist before seeing family and friends.

"Agent Bristow," Dr. Barnett greets me before turning to the others. "Agent Weiss. Agent Vaughn."  They both look slightly surprised, expecting I think, to be excluded from the conversation, as they had been earlier.

"Am I allowed to see my daughter now?" Is the first question I get out, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Weiss and Vaughn both nodding in anticipation.

"Yes, I think she'd like to see you," I'm almost out of my chair and half-way down the hallway when she stops me. "I'd like to talk with you three before any of you go and visit." She sits down on a chair, and after a moments hesitation, we all follow suit.

We sit here in silence for about five minutes, until (not-surprisingly) Weiss caved in the game of wits and spoke up. "Either tell us what you want to say, or I'm going to see her."

"I'm assuming that you've all been briefed on Agent Bristow's condition." I meet her gaze straight on, as I nod, only looking away to follow her gaze to Agents Vaughn and Weiss. Weiss was staring at the floor, nodding slowly. Vaughn was staring off into the distance, only the tears in his eyes any indication he head heard Barnett in the first place. These were, by far, a better reaction than when they had first heard the news.

_FLASHBACK_

_Weiss took the news better than I expected him too. After Vaughn had stormed out on the phone, I had turned to him and he asked, quite calmly, "What's wrong with __Sydney__? What happened?"  
  
_

_As I told him the news, his face expressed shock, disbelief, and denial. I think he was waiting… wanting me to say she'd been poisoned, because then at least there would be something he could do, someone or something he could go after._

_I questioned him thoroughly, but didn't learn anything. I didn't expect to learn anything after his reaction anyway. When I finished, the two of us sat in silence, waiting for Agent Vaughn's return._

_He returned looking much worse for wear. Obviously, his talk hadn't gone well, not that I cared. He sat down, running his hand over his face, as if to try and wake himself up, grimacing as his fingers slid over his slight stubble. He then turned his gaze on Weiss. One look at his best friends' still shocked face, and his paled visibly, immediately expecting the worse._

_"What's the news?" he questioned, voice hoarse and shaking, raising his eyes to meet mine. I didn't answer right away, trying to determine the right words. As much as I dislike the man before me, I respect him, and know that he, like __Sydney__, has already suffered too much in the world. _

_"Jesus Christ Jack!! What the hell is going on?!" Vaughn's words cut into my thoughts, and before I could rephrase it again, I had spoken. "She overdosed on pills."_

_"She… she what?" If his voice has been shaky and hoarse before, he was now practically cationic. _

_"It appears,  _Agent Vaughn_, that she took a very lethal number of pills that evening. Their affect was magnified by the alcohol…" I didn't get a chance to finish before he interrupted me._

_"No… NO FUCKING WAY!" Vaughn shook his head, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "I don't believe you. "__Sydney__… Syd's too strong to do something like that she wouldn't…"_

_Once he trailed off, I spoke again. "They said that physically she should be fine in a couple of days. They've pumped her stomach and placed her on an IV drip to counteract the drugs that made it into her blood. They're concerned about the strain this is placing on her liver. They have also said that she's not allowed visitors for the time being. So, Agent Vaughn, I suggest you go home."_

_"Home?!" He looks at me as if I just morphed into a green alien with three eyes and an antenna. "Oh, but Weiss is allowed to stay?" Except for the missing puppy dog expression, I'm transferred back to when __Sydney__ was little and being refused something._

_"Agent Weiss," I let my voice resume its ice exterior. "Agent Weiss is __Sydney__'s friend."_

_"I am her friend. I will always be there for her and her friend."_

_"It's Lauren or Sydney Vaughn. When you chose to take the phone call, you made her your choice."_

_"You're going to make me choose between my wife or Syd?!" he looks at me in disbelief. "You're going to make me choose?"_

_"Don't look so surprised Agent Vaughn. I doubt I am the first person to demand you make a choice. Besides, like I said, you've already chosen."_

_Suffice to say, Agent Vaughn and I haven't talked since that argument._

_END FLASHBACK_

"Okay then," Barnett tells us, convinced we've all been told of Sydney's condition. "I just wanted to talk to you about what to expect when you see Agent Bristow. I believe she has compartmentalized the entire incidence. This will severely hinder her recovery time. She needs to deal with her emotions sooner rather than later. Now this doesn't mean that I want you to force her to talk about it. I want you to do the opposite, in fact, just let her choose the topics.

"She is feeling very alone right now, so it's your responsibility to help her understand that she still has friends and family that care and need her around." Barnett takes a deep breath, then turns to me. "Agent Bristow, perhaps you should go in first. I'm going to check in on a few things, and then, Agent Vaughn, I'd like to talk to you before you go in."

As soon as Dr. Barnett has finished, I'm out of the room. Finally, I can see my daughter. It's about time.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, shifting in my seat so I can look at him.

"Talk about what?"

"Lauren… Sydney… Jack… Barnett…"

"Why would I want to talk about Barnett?"

"The fact that she wants to talk to you privately before you go and see Sydney. Mike, don't try to shut me out. I've known you to long. I can read you too well. Don't try and deny it. If you had your coin here you'd be twirling it about."

"Since you know me so well, why do I need to say anything?" The rhetorical question hangs in the air for a minute, before he continues. "I don't know what you expect me to say. I can't even keep my thoughts straight…"

"You need to make the choice you realize," I remind him, immediately noticing that the mere mention of it causes the wrinkles to break out in full force..

"I don't get it, why do I have to choose?" Why can't I be Syd's friend, and Lauren's husband?"

"Okay, Mike, do you hear yourself talk? Is your brain even functioning? 'Cause it looks to me like those wheels have stopped turning. All you're thinking about is you. You're a selfish bastard, did you know that?" He gives me a weak smile at that, so I continue. "You don't realize how lucky you are. You have two women who love you, but hate each other. If you don't make a decision, you're going to lose them both."

"How do you pick between your wife, and ex-dead-ex-girlfriend who you once thought was your soul mate? How do you choose Eric? Just tell me how so I can decide"

"Yeah, Like I want the responsibility of making the choice for you. Uh huh… right Mike. I'll stick by you 100% either way, but FYI don't expect me to stop being friends with Sydney when you pick Lauren."

"Ah ha!" he moves form his position in an instant, pointing his finger at me like I'm a little kid. "You think I should pick Lauren."

"No, I didn't say that, let the record note that I _believe_ you'll pick her over Syd, if for no reason but your morals. Sorry man, but for you to pick Syd would go against everything you normally stand for, and you never break rules."

"I always did for Syd," he says almost to quietly for me to hear. I turn away from him, so he doesn't see the smile that graces my lips at his comment. Sometimes there's always hope.

"Sydney?" I ask quietly as I enter her room, not sure she's awake.

"Daddy?" She exclaims, turning immediately from the window to look at me. _Daddy_, now that's a name I haven't been called since she first found out the truth about SD-6.

"Yes sweetheart, it's me," I reply, moving to her bedside and giving her a gentle hug. "You scared me Sydney," I tell her as we both pull back from the hug. I settle into the orange chair that is at her bedside.

"I'm sorry," I can see her withdrawing as she speaks, and I grasp for a conversation item.

"How was Barnett?"

"The usual… as good as having to see a shrink can be," she shrugs, indifferent, which confirms to me that Dr. Barnett didn't inform her that she was having her current field status revoked. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"You're more important to me than work. I know in the past it might've appeared differently, but the truth is, you're the most important person in my life. I work like crazy to make the world a better place, free of people like Sloane and Sark. A place where you won't have to fear as much for you kids as I do for you. Your… your "death" was the worst moment of my life. I had failed at protecting you. Parents aren't supposed to outlive their kids."

"Agent Vaughn, Agent Weiss," I look up when the voice calls out. Dr. Barnett was back. She was staring at Eric, who was squirming under the scrutiny. 

"Umm… I think I'll go see if Jack's done talking," Eric announces, having finally got the hint. He stands up and practically sprints from the room in his hurry to leave.

Barnett sits down across from me, before engaging in what I think is her favorite pastime… the staring game. Who will cave first?

I refuse to "bow down" to her, instead, never breaking contact until she speaks. It's probably sad, how much enjoyment I get from defying the game. Seeing how long it'll take before she cracks. She almost makes it to eight minutes this time. 

"Agent Vaughn?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to have a short talk with you about your relationship with Agent Sydney Bristow." Sydney? Oh, I thought she wanted to talk about Jack. Does she really think I'm that stupid?

"I don't have a relationship with her."

"I don't necessarily mean romantic. Do you consider the two of you friends?"

"Of course I do." What is with everyone doubting my loyalties today? 

"Then would you like to explain to me what it means to be a friend?" I don't know where she's going with this, but I have the feeling that I'm not going to like it. "Because in my experience, friends are people you hang out with, have a laugh with. They pick you up when you're feeling down. They don't make their friends think they've _ruined their lives_."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," is she patronizing me? Because I can only count on one hand the number of times I've felt so small, and the majority of those involve an interaction with Jack Bristow.

"Agent Vaughn, if I may say so, you seem to have trouble seeing the cause/effect relationship attached to your actions. Agent Bristow, on the other hand, is possibly too adept at feeling the affect of them. Now I know you want to see her, but I can't, with good feeling, allow you to do so until I believe you understand what's been going on. Agent Bristow… Sydney believes that her return has ruined your life. That you'd be better off without her around. Now I'm not saying that you feel that way, or that you don't. But when you go and see her, you need to decide if you're going as her friend, and therefore going to change this perception, or as her colleague and nothing more. Think about this Agent Vaughn and make a decision before you go in there, and for goodness sake, stick with it. Sydney doesn't deserve to deal with or be treated like crap in her life."


	7. In The End

Okay, well here's part seven.. but before you go and read, PLEASE READ THIS!

Please tell me which option you'd prefer:

1) This to be the last chapter and end of the story

2) For this to be the last chapter of I'm Still Here, but the story to have a sequel

3) Same as two, but just an epilogue instead of sequel

4) To continue this story further.. (if you pick this, what kind of ending are you looking for?)

Part 7:

_Remembering all the times you fought with me_

_I'm surprised it got so far_

_Things aren't the way they were before_

_You wouldn't even recognize me anymore_

_Not that you knew me back then_

_But it all comes back to me_

_In the end…_

_You kept everything inside_

_and even though I tried, it all fell apart_

_What it meant to me, _

_Will eventually, be a memory_

(Linkin Park – _In The End_)

* * *

So far I've seen Weiss and my dad, but there has been no sign of Vaughn, not that I really expected to see him. Unfortunately, Dr. Barnett had got my hopes up, something I've been trying to avoid since all my previous experiences have ended in heartache.

My dad left about an hour ago, citing work, which for once I knew he wasn't using just for an excuse. He hadn't been in over 24 hours, which must have felt like a life time to him. Weiss hung around fo

r an extra half an hour or so, before he left too, Alan would be dying for a walk and some food and Weiss didn't want to be welcomed home by some unfortunate… spills that could've been avoided.

So, for the last half hour or so since he left, I've alternated between staring out the window and watching the door, in search of something to occupy my attention. Okay, fine I admit it, I've been watching for Vaughn, but both views have been nothing but depressing and disappointing, it's raining outside and no one has walked by my doorway… not even a nurse.

* * *

I don't know how long I've been pacing the hallway across from her room now. When Weiss left he gave me a warning glare before pushing me towards her door. I had stood there for a moment, watching her as she stared out the window. As soon as she started to move though, I leapt backwards out of sight. I couldn't face her, not yet. Everything Dr. Barnett had said kept running through my head. That, and Jack's statement from weeks earlier, "Your kindness tortures her."

Every time I thought I had finally got up the courage to go and see her and would take a step toward her door, I'd realize once again that I didn't know what I was going to say to her. I don't know how to choose between her and Lauren.

On one hand, I've been friends with/known her longer than I've ever known Lauren. And, I believe, when I'm being honest with myself, that if we had still been together these past two years we would be married, if not at least engaged. I'm pretty positive that's where our relationship was heading, and I think she'd agree with me. Sydney, Syd… She's… she was my best friend (besides Weiss of course), and when we started dating and we were finally in a position in which we could both share our thoughts and feelings without fear of prosecution and death she became even more than that. She was my best friend, girlfriend, confident, lover and my everything…

Lauren, Lauren was there for me when I needed someone the most. When Sydney wasn't around, and I was too busy spiraling downwards to worry or think about anything else, Lauren was there. She saved my from myself, something that no one else had been able to do up to that point. She _is_ my wife and lover, and for a while she was my confident too. But lately, well ever since Sydney returned, I haven't been able to confide in her about anything. Weiss had regained the frontal position of being my best friend and confident. Lauren… Lauren was my savior…

So who wins? … Or who loses?

I hate this situation. How is it fair that I get to decide the fate of three people? Just from the fact that I'm in this situation makes me believe that I don't deserve either of them. I've treated Sydney like crap since her return, and the same goes for Lauren. There's been a definite tension in our marriage now, one that had never been there before. Then again, this tension could just stem from the fact that I don't want to be there.

Actually, I can't really foresee any outcome from this situation except misery for everyone. Or at least for me. If I was in either of their positions, I have the feeling I'd be long gone. I would've left the marriage, or given up waiting. So why should they be any different? Why should either of them feel the need to stick around? Like Weiss once told me, I'm obviously a very lucky bastard.

* * *

You know what? I don't know him to come. If he can't get up the courage or whatever the hell is going on that has kept him from visiting, he doesn't need to come by. If I'm just a burden, then he should feel free, because a burden I will no longer be.

The CIA has offices all over the country, with even a few locations oversees. Perhaps if I transferred, I'd finally be away from all this Rambaldi nonsense too, and possibly able to move forward with my life. And even if the CIA refuses to transfer me, there are schools all over the world looking for a new English teacher. I could go teach ESL (English as a Second Language) in some remote village in a tiny country where I'd never be found.

I could also try a repeat of my recent actions, but considering they didn't work once, and the fact that the more I think about it, the more I'm glad they didn't, I have no motivation for a repeat performance.

In all honesty, I couldn't even go through with it. I mean, I drank the wine and I took the pills, but as I sat there in the bathtub, the reality settling in I couldn't handle it. I burst into tears, and as soon as they stopped.. well relatively stopped, I had gotten dressed (well it was just a bathrobe, but it was a form of clothes) and headed over to Weiss' to confess.

Damn it Vaughn. Why did he have to be there? I lost all nerve when I saw him. I seem to lose the ability to think, breathe or speak when I'm around him. And all of a sudden, those reasons I had when I started the evening seemed to have weight, and I was glad that I _had_ taken the pills. I was glad. Damn it Vaughn! _Why do you make everything harder than it should be? Why do you always cause me pain when you promised you'd always be there to take it away?_

* * *

Okay. I'm going to do it. Don't look at me like that I am. Seriously. I'm going to walk in there right now… Okay, I'm going to walk in there as soon as my body will agree to turn in that direction. Why am I heading for the exit?

I force myself to stop walking and sink into the closest chair, head falling into my hands. I don't get why I can't just go in there. It's Sydney, the one I'd always promised to be there for. I wasn't there for her when the covenant took her away. I wasn't there to rescue her during her torture. Come to think of it, I never _did_ seem to be there.

But this is my chance. I can go in there, and I can be there for her. I can give her whatever she needs. At least I think I can. But, in all honesty, I know I can't. If she asked me to leave, or to never see her again. If she told me she was going to leave, move, disappear I don't think I could handle it. For one, if anyone should be forced to leave, it should be me, since I accept the blame over everything that has happened. And for seconds, thinking back to how much her first "death" destroyed me, I'm not sure I'd make it through a second one.

But what about Lauren? During Sydney's "death" I had no one to lean on. Well I had Weiss, but there's only so much someone who's idea of comfort is hockey and beer, can do. Now I have Lauren. Sydney is not the center of my life anymore… Well she's not suppose to be.

Oh for Christ sake, why can't I just admit it?

The more I ramble on, the clearer the picture seems to get. No more fuzziness in place, as if I had finally been given the correct prescription and was looking on everything with a new set of eyes. Sydney is my life. She's not just another friend, or someone on the side of my life, she's not even the center. She is my _entire_ life.

When I wake up in the morning, she's the first person I think of. When I take that first sip of coffee that jolts me awake, I remember how she likes it, two creams and one sugar, the same way as I took to adopting following her disappearance. When I pick out an outfit to wear, I think back to past discussions in which she confessed to enjoying certain outfits more than others. Every time I slip on my shoulder holster, or turn on the radio another random thought or moment is triggered.

She's my life.

How could I have not seen it before? How could I have been so … blind? So stupid?

* * *

I don't care if he walks in that door right now, because I never want to see him again. Nope, I'm just going to get out of here as soon as possible and get on my way. Take some time to travel maybe. Actually travel, not the travel I get to do for work. It's different when you're being sent on missions, you never get to enjoy what you see to actually see the places for themselves, but instead for what secret is being hidden there. What "bad people" are using it as another location in which to do business.

I've heard Thailand is beautiful. It's a small country, but it's full of backpackers, I'm sure it'd be pretty easy to disappear in a place like that. I could go down to Kosan Road (not positive about the spelling) and intermingle with the other backpackers until one day, I'm just no longer there.

Or how about Beijing? In a country with over one billion people it's got to be pretty simple to jus blend into the crowd… although, then again I am Caucasian… damnit.

Well that's only two of about 200 countries in the world. Hell I could just move to some small town in the US to disappear. I mean, sure the people in the town would notice me, but who'd suspect that I'd ever just jump onto a plane, and then into a car to only end up just under a thousand miles from LA?

There's really so many possibilities out there. I just have to decide.

* * *

Okay. I'm going to do it. Seriously, I'm walking towards her door right now. In less than 30 seconds I will be face to face with her again. I can feel the beads of sweat on my forehead. I'm not sure if she even wants to see me.

But I don't care. Even if she doesn't, I have the rest of my life to prove to her, just how worthy I am of her attention. No one can ignore someone for 50 years, you have to cave at some point… right?

It doesn't matter though, because she's got to be happy to see me. I have to think positive. Everyone keeps telling me that I've turned into a very negative person. It's interesting how once you have a pair of blinders on, you never notice anything.

I'm going to walk right in there and win her back. Or at least regain our friendship, after all, I still have to divorce Lauren, and divorce papers take time to get, then to get Lauren to sign them, and to go to court or whatever and finally get them approved… If I remember right from an old college buddy, it can take from three months to over a year!

But at the same time, that's perfect. Because if we're going to start over, we have to start at the very beginning. Go out on that first date, re-share our first kiss… Start back from square one, and move slowly. Last time I hurried through a marriage I ended up married to Lauren… Which, don't get me wrong, wasn't not an entirely bad think. We had our good moments throughout our marriage, and if truth be told, if Sydney has never returned I doubt I'd ever be having these thoughts.

I reach out my hand and grasp the door handle. I'm going to do it. As a few of the beads of sweat start to travel down my face (which I quickly wipe away with my sleeve), I can feel a smile stretch my cheeks to their limit. Things finally feel right. I'm back on track.

* * *

Okay, so I've figured it out. First I'm going to ask Dixon for a transfer to another office, perhaps over on the east coast or at Langley. Otherwise, I'm going to quit the CIA as I've been meaning to do for years (well I guess it's been years…) and become a teacher. I'll search the country until I find the perfect school and that's where I'm going to live. I'll have the summers off and I can go traveling. I'll make new friends. Maybe I'll even end up near Will and we can renew our friendship. Wherever the wind blows…

With my mind finally set, I sink into the pillows with a small smile gracing my lips. Everything's going to be okay.

A small noise at the door grabs my attention, and I turn to the door, ready to greet the nurse with a smile. It should be about time for them to reset the IV, the bag's getting quite low.

As the nurse steps into the room, I realize it's not a nurse at all, but Vaughn. He stops when he catches my gaze, our eyes locked in a duel. We've never needed words to communicate. And I find I can read him just as much now as I could over two years ago. And he must be finding the same, because the smile starts to fade from his face, his eyes gathering tears, ready to overflow.

Myself? Well I'm just shocked with the amount of love I'm reading from his gaze. I don't think he's ever looked at me with so much love, even back when we were dating.

"You're leaving?!" It's a half question half statement, that tumbles from his lips in a whisper, but it's enough to break the spell I seem to be under and I look away.

* * *

As my eyes meet hers, it's as if nothing's change from two years before. I can read her just as well now as I could then. But what I'm seeing is definitely not what I expected. I can feel my heart speed up, going into overdrive at the meaning they read from her gaze.

"You're leaving?!" I didn't even realize I'd opened my mouth, until she pulled her gaze from mine, and I was left staring at the side of her head.

When she made no movement to deny it, I couldn't hold the tears that had been filling my eyes in check any longer, and could feel them hot against my flushed cheeks. Well this is just fuckin' fantastic. I don't know what to say, everything that I thought I had prepared doesn't cover this situation. Nothing could've prepared me for this.

* * *

I glance back at him, to see tears sliding down his cheeks. And I realize just how much we're meant to be when I realize that the sight of him in tears, has reduced me to them as well. And as he stares at the ground, and I stare at him, I watch mesmerized as I feel our tears slipping and sliding in sync with each other.

And for once in my life, I wished I wasn't so goddamn readable. That I'd been able to hear him out, to read him before he could do the same with me.

And so we stay, him standing just inside the door, hand still remaining on the handle, tears sliding down his face, only to fall off his chin, landing with a tiny splash on the linoleum floor, and myself reclining on the bed, tears sliding down my face only to soak into the hospital gown I'd been forced to wear, eyes stuck on the sight of the man standing before me.

The proof in front of me, that the last two years have down unbearable damage on more people than just myself. That not everyone fully recovered, that many of us were still broken.

But that we are all still here. And that's what matters.

* * *

Once again, please tell me…

Please tell me which option you'd prefer:

1) This to be the last chapter and end of the story

2) For this to be the last chapter of I'm Still Here, but the story to have a sequel

3) Same as two, but just an epilogue instead of sequel

4) To continue this story further.. (if you pick this, what kind of ending are you looking for?)


End file.
